The Auction Block Part 42

"Beauty may be only a skin disease," Bob laughed, "but ugliness goes clear to the bone."

"I married you for your money, and you married me because--I seemed physically perfect--because my face and my body roused fires in you. I think we are both pretty rotten at heart, don't you?"

"No. Anyhow, I don't care to think about it. I never won anything by thinking. Kiss me again."

She ignored his demand, with her shadowy smile. "I deliberately traded on my looks; I put myself up for a price, and you paid that price regardless of everything except your desires. We muddled things dreadfully and got our deserts. I didn't love you, I don't love you now any more than you love me; but I think we're coming to respect each other, and that is a beginning. You have longings to be something different and better; so have I. Let's try together. I have it in me to succeed, but I'm not sure about you."

"Thanks for the good cheer."

"You're afraid you can't make a living for us--I KNOW you can. I'm merely afraid you won't."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I don't believe the liquor will let you."

"Nonsense. Any man can cut down."

"'Cutting down' won't do for us, Bob." He thrilled anew at her intimate use of his name. "The chemistry of your body demands the stuff--you couldn't be temperate in anything. You'll have to quit."

"All right. I'll quit. I divorce the demon rum; lovers once, but strangers now. I'll quit gambling, too."

Lorelei laughed. "That won't strain your will-power in the least, for half my salary goes up Amsterdam Avenue, and the rest will about run this flat."

Her listener frowned. "Forget that salary talk," he said, shortly.

"D'you think I'd let you--support me? D'you think I'm THAT kind of a nosegay? When I get so I can't pay the bills I'll walk out. To- morrow you quit work, and we move to the Ritz--they know me there, and--this delightful, home-like grotto of yours gives me the colly-wabbles."

"Who will pay the hotel?" Lorelei smiled.

"Mr. George W. Bridegroom, of course. I'll get the money, never fear. I know everybody, and I've borrowed thousands of dollars when I didn't need it. My rooms at the Charlevoix are full of expensive junk; I'll sell it, and that will help. As soon as we're decently settled I'll look for a salaried job. Then watch my smoke. To quote from the press of a few months hence: 'The meteoric rise of Robert Wharton has startled the financial world, surpa.s.sing as it does the sensational success of his father. Young Mr. Wharton was seen yesterday at his Wall Street office and took time from his many duties to modestly a.s.sure our representative that his ability was inherited, and merely ill.u.s.trates anew the maxim that "a chip of the old block will return after many days."

That will please dad. He'll relent when I attribute my success to him."

"You must quit drinking before you begin work," said Lorelei.

"I HAVE quit."

With a person of such resilient temperament, one who gamboled through life like a faun, argument was difficult. Bob Wharton was pagan in his joyous inconsequence; his romping spirits could not be damped; he bubbled with the optimism of a Robin Goodfellow.

Ahead of him he saw nothing but dancing sunshine, heard nothing but the Pandean pipes. The girl wife watched him curiously.

"I wonder if you can," she mused. "Before we begin our new life we're going to make a bargain, binding on both of us. You'll have to stop drinking. I won't live with a drunkard. I'll work until you've mastered the craving."

"No!" Bob declared, firmly. "I'll take the river before I'll let you--keep me. Why, if I--"

Lorelei rose and laid her hand over his lips, saying quietly:

"I'm planning our happiness, don't you understand? and it's a big stake. You must pocket your pride for a while. n.o.body will know.

We've made a botch of things so far, and there is only one way for us to win out."

"A man who'd let his wife--"

"A man who WOULDN'T let his wife have her way at first is a brute."

"You shouldn't ask it," he cried, sullenly.

"I don't ask it: I insist upon it. If you refuse we can't go on."

"Surely you don't mean that?" He looked up at her with grave, troubled eyes.

"I do. I'm entirely in earnest. You haven't strength to go out among your friends and restrain yourself. No man as far gone as you could do it."

"I've a simpler way than that," he told her, after a moment's thought. "There are inst.i.tutions where they straighten fellows up.

I'll go to one of those."

"No." She rejected this suggestion positively. "They only relieve; they don't cure. The appet.i.te comes back. This is something you must do yourself, once and for all. You must fight this out in secret; this city is no place for men with appet.i.tes they can't control. Do this for me, Bob, and--and I'll let you do anything after that. I'll let you--beat me." Getting no response from him, she added gravely, "It is that or--nothing."

"I can't let you go," Bob said, finally.

"Good! We'll keep this apartment and I'll go on working--"

He hid his face in his hands and groaned. "Gee! I'm a rotter."

"You can sell your belongings at the Charlevoix, and we'll use the money. We'll need everything, for I can't piece out my salary the way I've been doing. There can't be any more supper-parties and gifts--"

"I should hope not," he growled. "I'll murder the first man who speaks to you."

"Then is it a real, binding bargain?"

"It is--if you'll bind it with another kiss," he agreed, with a miserable attempt at cheerfulness. "But I sha'n't look myself in the face."

For the first time she came to him willingly.

"Doesn't it seem nice to be honest with yourself and the world?"

she sighed, after a time.

"Yes," he laughed. "I'm sorry to cut the governor adrift, but he'll have to get along without our help."

Despite his jocularity he was deeply moved. As the situation grew clearer to him he saw that this girl was about to change the whole current of his careless life; her unexpected firmness, her gentle, womanly determination at this crisis was very grateful--he desperately longed to retain its support--and yet the arrangement to which she had forced his consent went sorely against his grain.

His struggle had not been easy. Her surrender to him was as complete and as unselfish as his own acquiescence seemed unmanly and weak. He rose and paced the little room to relieve his feelings. Days and weeks of almost constant dissipation had affected his mental poise quite as disastrously as the strain of the past twenty-four hours had told upon his physical control, and he was shaking nervously. He paused at the sideboard finally and poured himself a steadying drink.

Lorelei watched his trembling fingers fill the gla.s.s before she spoke.

"You mustn't touch that," she said, positively.

"Eh?" He turned, still frowning absent-mindedly. "Oh, this?" He held the gla.s.s to the light. "You mean you want me to begin--NOW?

A fellow has to sober up gradually, my dear. I really need a jolt-- I'm all unstrung."

"I sealed the bargain."

"But, Lorelei--" He set the gla.s.s down with a mirthless laugh. "Of course, I won't, if you insist. I intended to taper off--a chap can't turn teetotaler the way he turns a handspring." He eyed the gla.s.s with a sudden intensity of longing. "Let's begin to-morrow.